Speak -- As You Would Write

Come.
Come with me
And let us burn these words.

We uttered them between us,
Did we not?
And therefore they are ours
To keep or kill.

Let us unmake them.
Let us drain their sense
And cast their empty skins
Into the wind.

And perhaps --
The spirit might then knit itself anew.

Miserere

It is the spot of grace
That I address,
The shiver of the angel
At your core,
The place
Where you are God --

Comfort me.

You see how scorched I am;
You see I burn
Without relief or rescue,
Without help.
Only
You can help me.

Give me ease.

Your gentleness must grieve
At this harsh blaze,
Your kindness wish to succor --
Rain on me.
Divine,
You carry peace

Within you --

Rain on me.